


Time of Fear

by goldarrow



Series: Silent!Stephen [12]
Category: Primeval
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-17 18:19:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17565602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldarrow/pseuds/goldarrow
Summary: Hemingway is captured by an old adversary.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Primeval belongs to Impossible Pictures.  
> Blade belongs to fredbassett, who kindly lends him out.  
> Hemingway is mine.

Time of Fear

 

Charles Hemingway ducked down behind the low wall, wincing and cursing silently. He did know better than to keep going on an investigative track that started as a paper trail and turned into a physical pursuit. He really did. Unfortunately, just occasionally his hunting instincts overrode his good sense, and he ended up getting shot.

 

Like right now.

 

Deciding to sacrifice his handkerchief rather than his tie, he pulled the square of fabric from his breast pocket and wrapped it around his perforated forearm. Tying the knot with his off hand and his teeth wasn’t easy, but after letting loose a few grumbled curses and somehow managing to get a couple of loose threads stuck between his teeth he got the bleeding stopped enough so he wouldn’t leave a trail of blood drops as he ran. And running was what he intended to do, as rapidly as possible.

 

He might not have called in the enforcement team quickly enough on this one, but now he fully intended to back off and let those who were paid to get shot at be the ones dodging any more bullets that might be bouncing around. He had no problem mixing it up with someone in hand-to-hand, on occasion even finding a brawl to be rather invigorating. Guns, on the other hand, tended to scare the crap out of him. He was usually quick enough to evade a blow from a fist, but he'd never managed to develop reflexes fast enough to dodge a chunk of metal coming at him at 400 metres per second.

 

He wouldn’t even be here if a tip hadn't been called in to the HSE about some odd creatures being kept in conditions that might pose a danger to both workers and passers-by at this small semi-private zoo. A preliminary check by the RSPCA hadn't shown any problems with the treatment of the animals on display, but there was still something that was causing an unusual number of injuries to workers at the site, even if all of them stated repeatedly and unequivocally that they'd simply been clumsy. Owing to the similarities to the incident last month at Whatley Quarry (where an anomaly had been disgorging creatures that someone had been capturing and selling), the higher-ups decided that it would be a good idea for Hemingway to check things out.

 

Everything had been on track to be a complete dead-end, but then he'd overheard two men mention a name - a very familiar name, one that just happened to belong to the head of the now-incarcerated security contingent at Whatley Quarry. After that, he'd been unable to walk away without a bit of further investigation. That poking around had led him to this field behind the main building complex, which in turn had led to men shooting at him the moment they saw him, leaving him now running for his life.

 

Keeping low, he sprinted along behind the wall until he reached the end of the cover next to the car park. After a quick glance around, he darted out and dived headfirst into his car, cursing again as, from this new angle, he saw the two men who had been chasing him running into the car park from the other end. Staying down as much as possible to make himself as small a target as he could, he threw the car into gear and hit the accelerator hard, peeling out with a scream of rubber that rapidly turned into a screech of metal against tarmac as both back tyres were blown out by successive bullets. Crap. Of course, since they'd had no compunctions about shooting him, they certainly wouldn’t hesitate over pumping a few bullets into his vehicle.

 

The car fishtailed as Hemingway hung on like grim death to the steering wheel that was now bucking madly in his hands. He managed to avoid first the ditch on the left side of the road and then the fence on the right side, but a final bullet into the left front tyre as he tried frantically to steer the tonne of unruly metal back onto the road put paid to him getting anywhere right now. Well, anywhere except straight into the bole of a very large tree, which stopped his car's careening with a bang that rattled his teeth.

 

Shaking his head to clear it, he recklessly shoved his door open, ready to lunge out and take cover, but it seemed he'd taken longer than he'd thought to recover from smacking his head into the side window. The door was yanked hard from the outside, pulling him off balance. He nearly fell out onto the pavement, the only thing stopping him a frantic release of the door handle and an equally frantic grab at the dashboard as he ended up forehead to metal with the rather inflexible and still warm muzzle of an automatic.

 

"Out," the wielder of the weapon ordered.

 

With a sigh that he made sure the man didn't hear, Hemingway followed the order. Hands raised, he allowed the thug to prod him back in the direction of the field he'd just managed to evacuate from, a consummation he certainly had no wish for.

 

"You do realise that this is a rather unfortunate mistake," he stated as mildly as he could, which, if he did say so himself, was very mildly. As a matter of fact, he could when necessary be so mild that most people immediately put him on the list of those not to be bothered about, a result that frequently allowed him to remove himself from difficult situations with remarkable dispatch.

 

Unfortunately, this time it didn't work. The gunman simply grunted and prodded him again, hard enough that he nearly stumbled as he passed through the door of the barn at the back of the field. The moment the door closed behind him, he couldn’t help but stop and stare, ignoring for the moment the continued poking of the gun-barrel.

 

"Oh, hell, not again," he whispered involuntarily, and came close to leaping out of his skin when there was a dark chuckle right beside him. Damn it, he needed to get a grip on himself. Just because he was facing another anomaly didn’t mean he could afford to lose his head.

 

"So, you know these things?" The voice held a wealth of danger to experienced ears.

 

Hemingway's ears were very experienced. He didn't like the tone at all, so he played the bureaucrat for all he was worth. Dropping his arms, he smiled blandly at the man, hiding the fact that he was taking in as much detail about the group facing him and the area he was in as he could.

 

"Charles Hemingway, HSE. I was informed that there have been injuries here, sir. More injuries than are normal for this classification of commerce." He nodded blandly at the anomaly. "It looks as if you're working with electromagnetism. That is not covered under your insurance policy for this business location." Shaking his head, he stuck his hands in his trouser pockets and pasted a severe look on his face. "You do realise that you are opening yourself up to multiple fines by this type of experimentation?"

 

Hoping against hope that they wouldn’t notice his fingers moving, he pressed a pattern onto his mobile screen that should - if he had the sodding phone right side up anyway - mute his speaker and dial a number that just might help get him out of this situation. Always assuming the recipient was _a_ ) available, and _b_ ) didn't think the call was a prank and drop it.

 

"That is not going to work," the man replied, turning away to stare at the anomaly. "You said 'not again'. You know what it is. What they are." He looked back and straight into Hemingway's eyes. "We will go through now."

 

Hemingway held back a gulp of horror by the skin of his teeth. Fuck it all. For the second time he was going through an anomaly not of his own free will or desire. Making a last-ditch effort in the hope that someone on the other end of his possibly open phone-line would hear, he spoke loudly, letting some of his fear seep through into his tone. "Look, these rips in time, they don't stay open. I don't care where it goes, or what you're doing there. I don't want to go to the other side. No one knows this thing is here at Ambersley Park. Block it off and nothing needs to be done. The case will be closed."

 

The man snorted derisively. "You're either a fool or you're trying to play us for fools. I hope, for your sake, that it's the former." He gestured to the man behind Hemingway. "Get him through."

 

Hemingway didn’t even have a chance to tell them he'd cooperate before a hard shove in the middle of his back sent him staggering forward and through the circling splinters of time. He couldn't help it, he closed his eyes as he passed the cool shards that should have cut him but didn’t, only opening them again when he was slapped in the face with warm, damp air. A quick glance around showed him he wasn’t anywhere near the era he'd been in last time, when Helen Cutter had dumped him in the Oligocene and Stephen Hart had come through and kept him alive long enough for both of them to be rescued by Captain Ryan and his Special Forces team. The thought of the military contingent made Hemingway pray silently that his message had got through.

 

This place was much warmer, the plants more primitive, and the creatures - oh, hell and damnation, the creatures - were actual fucking dinosaurs. The men were standing at the base of a bluff overlooking a valley that was broken by a river feeding into a huge lake at the other end. A lake that was currently playing host to a family of huge creatures. Hemingway wracked his brains but couldn’t come up with anything more accurate than brontosaurus. Bloody great big brontosauruses. And he knew they weren't called that any more.

 

Since he seemed to be fated to end up getting too close to the blasted living fossils, he swore to himself that he was going to learn to recognise more dinosaurs than just those whatever-brontosauruses-were-called-now, triceratopses, stegosauruses and T. rexes. All of those he knew from his childhood dinosaur obsession.

 

On the other hand, he would much rather that his knowledge remained academic. He was damned if he wanted to actually meet a T. rex. Watching Jurassic Park on a movie screen (in spite of its lack of accuracy) was as close as he wanted to get to one of those monsters. Even the conference he'd attended a few months ago hadn't actually helped much, being aimed at an audience that already possessed a boatload more knowledge than he had.

 

He brought his attention back as he was prodded again, forcing him forward. Taking a deep breath to settle himself, he walked where he was ordered, and they made their way along the edge of the bluff and into a temporary camp. There was a small tent, and a stack of cages filled with diminutive creatures chirping and squeaking as they burrowed into straw and wood-shavings, or chewed on the wires in vain attempts to regain their freedom.

 

"You." This voice was lighter than the other man's, but no less dangerous.

 

Hemingway raised an eyebrow as he looked at the owner of the voice without recognition. "I believe you have the advantage of me," he said quietly.

 

The man - tall, blond, with broad shoulders and an 80s porn-star moustache - strode over to him, not stopping until he was almost touching Hemingway, and stared down from his superior height in a transparent attempt at domination. "I know you. You should know me."

 

Hemingway played along, sure that the less dangerous he seemed, the more likely he would be to survive whatever was going on here. If there had been only one or two men, he could have taken them on and probably taken them out without too much trouble, but there were at least four that he could see, and there could be more that weren't in eyeshot. So he played for time.

 

"I'm afraid not," he said placidly, keeping his hands relaxed by his sides and his chin down, not displaying any attempt at gaining dominance. "I've never seen you before."

 

The man snorted. "You've been looking for me. Now, you've found me. I hope you're happy in your knowledge."

 

Hemingway froze. The boss from the Whatley Quarry case. The man they'd been unable to track down, even with Connor Temple's assistance. Damn it.

 

"I see," he sighed. "Yes, we've been looking for you. But, honestly, this wasn't necessary. We could have come to some sort of agreement at the correct end of history."

 

"You're not convincing me of your intelligence." The man crossed his arms over his chest, almost pushing Hemingway backwards. "You haven't even asked for my name."

 

Hemingway shrugged, using the movement as a cover for edging back a little to get some space between them without obviously retreating. "I assume you'll tell me when you're ready."

 

"Franklin Bartholomew Pennock, at your service." Pennock dipped his head ironically. "Now, we're almost finished for this trip, so we're going to return home. Unfortunately, there's going to be a terrible accident, and you're going to be lost." He turned away, dismissing Hemingway in a manner that he probably thought would be insulting, but was actually exactly what Hemingway wanted.

 

"Would you mind satisfying my curiosity, since I'm going to be stuck here?" Hemingway asked.

 

"About what?" Pennock looked inquiringly at him. "Surely you don't really want to know that we're in the Late Cretaceous and you're probably going to be eaten by a Tyrannosaurus rex in a few hours."

 

Hemingway cleared his throat, every muscle tightening. "Actually," he managed to say, "I was wondering how you knew about the anomalies."

 

Pennock cocked his head, then shrugged. "After I saw that little one at Whatley and captured a few of the creatures, I met a woman, dark-haired, very strange. She told me what they are - rips in the fabric of time and space." He laughed. "It sounds so poetic, doesn’t it? Such an opportunity to gain knowledge, to map out history. But more than anything, there's profit to be made. Now, goodbye, Mr Hemingway." He snapped his fingers, and two of the men came forward.

 

They lashed Hemingway's hands behind him and dragged him to the base of the bluff, where they tripped him and tied his ankles after he hit the ground hard. Leaving him there, they headed back and took the last of the cages through the anomaly, which was starting to flicker a little.

 

Pennock and one other man remained, checking the area to make sure that every bit of equipment had been taken back home. With a final wave as Hemingway struggled to get free, they turned to pass through the anomaly, but backed away when it suddenly bulged.

 

Someone burst out of it, and neither Pennock nor his thug had time to do more than grunt before they were both down, dead or simply unconscious, Hemingway neither know nor cared. All he could see was the black uniform, the dark hair and the knives in the man's hands. Blade. Hemingway's message to the ARC had got through after all.

 

"Over here!" Hemingway called out. "I'm tied up. Hurry, Niall, it's about to close."

 

For some reason, Blade didn’t seem to be bothered about speed. He moved quickly but without any display of nervousness over to Hemingway, and cut his bonds. "Don't worry, Charles," he said quietly. "Everything's fine."

 

"Screw fine," Hemingway snapped. "Are they still alive? And how long before that damnable thing snaps shut on us?" He stopped, staring in despair as the anomaly gave one last flicker, an overstuffed pack came flying through, and the circling shards pulled abruptly into a tiny sphere and with a silent 'pop', disappeared. "Well, damn," he snarled disgustedly.

 

Blade chuckled. "Both men are dead. We should probably bury them. Hopefully that way they won't attract too much of the wrong kind of attention."

 

"Wrong kind of attention." Hemingway sighed as he looked at the one man he was actually not too unhappy to be caught in the past with. "This is Late Cretaceous, Niall."

 

Shrugging, Blade moved over to the pack and started rooting through it. "Doesn't really matter. We just have to hang on for eighteen hours. This is an intermittent anomaly, only opens for a few minutes at a time. We've been narrowing its location down a little more every instance, but it's been a slow process with that fucking metal warehouse around it interfering. Then today you called and gave us the park name a couple of minutes after it opened, and we were on the road in five."

 

"Christ," Hemingway whispered. "If you hadn’t heard me, if . . ." He suddenly started shuddering, eyes squeezing shut. The thought of being trapped in the past, alone - again - hit him like a freight train. When strong arms wrapped around him and held tight, he didn’t even think twice. He grabbed onto the warmth and tried to burrow inside it. A few seconds, hours, decades later, he managed to pull himself together and relaxed his death-grip with a muttered apology.

 

"Don't worry," Blade repeated. "We have supplies, and we know exactly when we'll be rescued."

 

He pulled back and Hemingway felt the weight of his gaze.

 

"You ready for a nasty job?" Blade asked.

 

Hemingway glanced over at the bodies. "Burial detail?"

 

Blade nodded. "Yeah."

 

Blowing out a breath, Hemingway gestured. "Lay on, Macduff. Let's get this over with."

 


	2. Chapter 2

It didn’t actually take very long to clean the campsite of anything that might attract predators. Once Blade discovered that the river was fast and deep at the end of the bluff, they didn't bother with burial. On his suggestion they tipped the bodies into the water and let the river take them away from the campsite. That left only the cleanup of the blood, which didn’t take long either. A simple scoop and toss, and the bloody chunks of soil followed the carcasses into the water.

 

"Right, that's done," Blade said, his voice suffused with satisfaction. "Now, we need to find either a cave or a good strong tree to make a platform. It's starting to get dark, and Temple has had some nasty things to say about Cretaceous night-hunters."

 

"I'm not sure I want to know." Hemingway grunted, then grinned when Blade gave him the hairy eyeball. "Believe me, I have seen all three Jurassic Park films."

 

Blade laughed out loud. "Me, too. And I can tell you that you should never go to any dinosaur movie with Temple. At the last marathon, he had the entire cinema audience up in arms with his running commentary."

 

"I'm sure he did." The two men traded smiles, totally in accord. "So, cave or tree?" Hemingway asked, suddenly just a trifle nervous about being alone with Richards. His totally inappropriate feelings just might end up embarrassing him horribly.

 

Blade nodded, eyes intent on Hemingway in a manner that was slightly intimidating. "Cave, I think," he replied quietly. "It's harder for something big to get inside, and if we have a fire at the opening, the smaller creatures are less likely to try to come in."

 

"Sounds good." Hemingway did his best to sound businesslike. "Oh, and just for information, our Mr Pennock, the blond one whose body is hopefully providing dinner for something large and dreadful right now, got the details about the anomalies from a 'strange dark-haired woman'."

 

"Well, fuck," Blade responded disgustedly. "Let me guess. Sodding Helen Cutter."

 

"I believe so." With an internal grin, Hemingway led the way back over to the bluff. "If I remember correctly, there was something just past where those bastards dumped me that looked like it might be the entrance to a cave. Shall we investigate?"

 

Blade trailed after him obediently. "After you, sir," he stated.

 

Hemingway did his best not to read more into those words than might actually be there. He was at least 15 years older than Blade, he was a bureaucrat, and although he tried to stay in as good a condition as he could, he was a very long way from the level of fitness the soldier gloried in. Not to mention the fact that he was developing lines around his eyes and his hair was starting to thin on top, something that he was uncomfortably aware of every time he looked in a mirror. He might be 'pleasant' looking, as a former lover called him, but he knew he was no Adonis.

 

"Um, Charles?" The amusement in Blade's voice brought his attention back to where he was going.

 

Hemingway sighed when he saw that he'd passed the entrance to the cave whilst in what he sadly admitted was a funk. "Sorry, Niall," he said unhappily. "I'm not very good in these situations."

 

"According to Hart, you're sensible, quick-witted, and bloody good company," Blade replied cheerfully. "I'll take his opinion on that over yours."

 

Hemingway felt his jaw drop, and he snapped his mouth closed before he could look so completely gormless that he would give the lie to Blade's statement. "Thanks, I think," he stuttered as he moved over to stand beside the soldier.

 

Blade waved him back. "Let me check this," he said quietly. "Hang on."

 

Before Hemingway could react, Blade had pulled out a large and lethal-looking knife and had ducked his head to slide silently through the opening. Hemingway felt his pulse kick into overdrive and he put his back against the rock beside the entry, keeping a weather eye out over the valley as he waited impatiently.

 

"Come on in," Blade called.

 

Hemingway ducked through the entrance so quickly that he almost clipped his head on a low-hanging rock. Damn it, this was getting ridiculous. He had to get hold of himself.

 

"Careful."

 

It didn't help Hemingway's feelings of inadequacy that he could clearly hear the humour in the soldier's tone, until he looked over at Blade and saw the slightly bloody scrape on his forehead in the light of the portable lantern that the soldier had set on a rock.

 

He chuckled. "Are you all right?"

 

"Fine," Blade returned. "Just glad I'm not the only one."

 

"I missed it," Hemingway pointed out, justifiably in his opinion.

 

"Barely. If you'd been an inch taller, you wouldn't have." Blade was obviously not ready to concede the round.

 

"True," Hemingway admitted. "If you'll get out the first-aid kit I'm sure you have in that pack, I'll clean up the blood. I don't know how good their sense of smell is, but I think better safe than sorry with those creatures."

 

"Agreed. But only if you'll let me take care of your arm as well."

 

Hemingway blinked, eyes dropping to the bloody handkerchief wrapped around his forearm. "Huh. I'd forgotten about it. Good call, Niall."

 

He moved over and sat next to Blade, pulling out an alcohol swab and wiping the thin layer of blood from the soldier's forehead. It took every bit of self-control he possessed to keep his hand from shaking as he forced himself to concentrate on what he was doing rather than the distracting proximity of Blade's ice-green eyes and the dark stubble covering his chin. Damn it, now was not the time to be wondering what that stubble would feel like being dragged along his belly, moving down . . . He took a deep breath and corralled his wandering thoughts, hopefully before Blade noticed that his trousers were becoming abnormally tight.

 

"Right, done," Hemingway stated with relief.

 

Now he could move away. No, he couldn’t. Blade had picked up another swab and was holding out his hand. Gritting his teeth, Hemingway placed his hand in Blade's and did his best to stay relaxed as the soldier swiftly and efficiently removed the makeshift dressing from his arm, cleaned the bullet wound that was luckily not much more than a shallow furrow, and rewrapped it in a real bandage.

 

Taking the bloody swabs and handkerchief, Blade tucked them into a plastic bag and sealed the top. "That should keep the scent from attracting anything we wouldn’t want to take home as a pet," he stated with a grin.

 

Hemingway couldn’t help but smile back before allowing his shoulders to droop as he scrubbed his face with his hands in an attempt to kick-start his mind.

 

"What now?" he asked in despair. "I really don't want to go out searching for wood for a fire."

 

Blade grinned. "No search needed," he said. "There's a lightning-struck tree about two metres up the side of the bluff. I can have a night's worth of wood back here in less than five minutes."

 

Staring at him, Hemingway shook his head. "That's the second thing I've completely missed. Bloody hell."

 

When Blade opened his mouth to respond, Hemingway held up a hand.

 

"I'm only saying that I'm very glad you're here, Niall," he said honestly. "I'd most likely be a gibbering wreck just about now if you weren't."

 

Blade grinned. "Nah. I don't believe that. You'd be fine, because you'd have to be."

 

He ducked out the door before Hemingway could come up with a response to that statement that involved anything more complex than a blank stare. Once the extremely distracting soldier was out of sight, Hemingway shook himself and started rooting through the pack to see if there was something to eat. It might not be very late in the day at this end of history, but as far as his stomach was concerned it had been a very long time since lunch.

 

His search brought him success at the same moment that Blade carried a huge double armful of branches, twigs and leaves through the entrance and dumped them onto the dusty floor just inside.

 

"This should last the night," he said. "We don't need to light it until dark, so we should be fine for a while. I'm going to grab some ferns to make a mattress. Back in two ticks."

 

Hemingway grinned. Niall Richards certainly was a useful companion for a camp-out. He busied himself sweeping off the floor at the back of the cave while he waited, making sure there were no stones or sharp outcroppings to make an uncomfortable bed. He was wondering unhappily and with slight embarrassment whether he should allow for two bed areas or just one when Blade slid back through the doorway, his entire form hidden behind some of the biggest, lushest ferns Hemingway had ever seen.

 

"Good lord," he blurted involuntarily.

 

Blade dropped them onto the floor that Hemingway had cleared off. "Nice lot, isn’t it?" he asked cheerfully. "Should make a comfortable bed if we pile the emergency blankets on top of it."

 

He smiled at Hemingway, his eyes flicking down and back up so quickly that Hemingway wasn’t sure whether or not the man had actually been checking him out.

 

"I'm hoping you found the ration pack."

 

Blade's voice seemed to have dropped half an octave. Either that or Hemingway was starting to hallucinate.

 

"Yes, right here," he managed to say, and Blade's smile widened to a grin as he stepped close and took the packet of biscuits Hemingway was holding out.

 

"Thanks."

 

Blade sat down beside Hemingway, close enough that their shoulders pressed together, and the cave suddenly seemed to have lost about half its oxygen. Hemingway couldn't help it, he tightened just slightly in an attempt to control his desire to grab the soldier and kiss him senseless. He knew he'd made a mistake when he felt Blade start to withdraw. Damn.

 

Hoping he was doing the right thing, he simply followed along, continuing the pressure until Blade stilled.

 

"I really am glad you're here, Niall," he said seriously, then grinned and waved a biscuit around. "And not just because you brought me food."

 

Blade relaxed against him and they finished their meals in silence and accord, which immediately went out the window when Hemingway realised that nature was calling, with a vengeance. "I need . . ." he started, then stopped, unsure how to proceed.

 

"If it's just a slash," Blade said as he waved his hand toward the corner, "there's a crack in the wall over there that should stop the smell from being too annoying. I'd rather you didn't go outside. It's getting dark and the evening hunters will be coming out."

 

Hemingway sighed. Of course. Evening hunters. Why was this his life? "Um . . . No . . . Um. It's more." He wanted to sink into the ground. For fuck's sake, he wasn't in primary school. He could at least admit he needed to take a crap.

 

Blade simply laughed. "Sorry, Charles," he said, not sounding sorry at all. "I was just winding you up. I put a pile of dirt up on the ledge where the tree was. Cover it up after you're done and it should be fine. Take this wet-wipe, it'll work better than leaves. You can bury it along with the shit."

 

Hemingway seared him with an exaggerated stink-eye for the teasing, then grinned and nodded as he took the packet and headed out. After doing his business, he stood and stared out over the valley for a few minutes, trying to regain his customary calm. He was too used to being in control of situations, and conditions like this made him itchy.

 

Maybe he was a fool for thinking that there could be a possibility of anything between him and Blade. They were both alphas in their own ways, and any relationship between the two of them had the potential to blow up in their faces, perhaps too painfully to -

 

"Charles? Are you planning on coming back down before it gets dark?"

 

Blade's voice snapped the hamster-wheel circling of Hemingway's thoughts. Damn it, maybe they would be explosive together, but explosions could be exhilarating while they were taking place. Allowing his internal smile to bleed over onto his face, he slid back down and ducked through the entrance, only to pull up short with his breath clogging his throat.

 

Blade had made good use of the time Hemingway had been outside. There was a fire laid and ready to light just inside the entrance. The ferns were piled high on the far side of the cave with one of the emergency blankets stretched across the stack. But what stopped Hemingway in his tracks was the sight of Blade standing beside the makeshift bed with the other blanket in his hands and no shirt on his back.

 

Mouth suddenly dry, Hemingway couldn't stop himself from staring. The soldier was gorgeous with his broad shoulders tapering to a slim waist and his strong but smooth muscles sliding under tanned and supple skin. There wasn't one thing that Hemingway could even suspect might need changing in the body on display. Then Blade turned to look at him, and he swallowed hard at the glow in the emerald eyes.

 

"Please tell me you're not just fucking with me, Niall." Hemingway couldn't stop the plea falling from his lips.

 

The glow amped up two levels, and Blade dropped the blanket and stalked over to him like the predator he was.

 

"No, I'm not fucking with you," he said as he came near. "But I would like to fuck you," he added in a growl directly into Hemingway's ear.

 

The growl went straight to Hemingway's cock and he bit back a moan before deciding to just go for it. Turning his head, he captured Blade's lips with his own, and felt the soldier moan in turn.

 

For the first time in what felt like years Hemingway let his brain turn off and his body take control. For some unaccountable reason, Niall Richards seemed to find him someone worth being with, and he wasn't going to let his own mind get in the way. For once, the future could bloody well take care of itself.

 

Mouths still sealed together, tongues tangling and tasting, the two men started moving as one across the room to the makeshift bed. Neither one trying to lead, they somehow managed to turn perfectly at exactly the right moment to sink down side by side onto the blanket.

 

Once oxygen levels started becoming an issue, they pulled apart enough to take a few slow, deep breaths and just look at each other in silence. Hemingway had to fight to keep his eyes open at the combination of understanding and lust in Blade's eyes, then he did close them when Blade reached out and ran calloused fingers down his cheek.

 

"You know," Blade said in a musing tone of voice, "one of the things that has always attracted me is someone who knows what the fuck he's doing. Someone mentally strong, emotionally balanced."

 

Hemingway opened his eyes and stared into emerald fire as Blade continued speaking.

 

"I've been what most people regard as completely psycho for years, and after I get past that first bite of lust with someone, the one thing that really gets under my skin is when a lover can see past the madness, see the _me_ underneath the crazy."

 

Hemingway smiled, understanding everything Blade wasn't saying. He wondered how many people over the years had made a play for the damaged young soldier and then backed off when their nerves got the best of them, breaking him a little more in the process each time.

 

"I see you, Niall," he said simply, gently pressing the young man onto his back so he could prove it, inch by inch.

 

He watched the amazing eyes slide closed, knowing Blade would be able to feel his gaze along with his touch. Starting at the top of Blade's head, he ran first his fingers and then his nails along Blade's scalp, scratching and massaging, pulling a bone-deep groan from the man's throat. Grinning, Hemingway added his lips and teeth to the mix as he moved down Blade's neck to his shoulders, nibbling and occasionally biting a little harder whenever the urge hit.

 

"God damn fucking hell," Blade ground out after a particularly sharp nip, and Hemingway chuckled.

 

"You like that?"

 

He did it again, just to hear the muttered, "Fuck, you're fucking evil," that it elicited.

 

By the time Hemingway made it to Blade's abs, he was having a hard time controlling his own moans just from watching the soldier reacting to his caresses. He didn't need to worry for long, though, since one scrape of his nails too many and he found himself without warning flat on his back with Blade looming over him, eyes alight with green fire and white teeth gleaming in the lantern light.

 

"My turn," the soldier stated.

 

Hemingway closed his eyes as Blade pressed him into the softness of the ferns. The tie that he had somehow managed to keep on throughout his adventure thus far was untied and pulled free and - was that the sound of the material hitting the wall on the other side of the cave? - Hemingway opened his eyes and glared into the green ones that were watching him with amusement.

 

He opened his mouth to expostulate but the only sound that came out was a groan as Blade popped open the button at his neck and attacked his throat with strong teeth and soft lips. The wonderful torture continued and he let himself go, allowing free rein to the moans that slid out of his mouth from the feeling of teeth raking, the shivers from the warm wetness of the lips, and the whines that were pulled from him at the feeling of the harsh stubble scraping along his belly as Blade opened each button on his shirt, slid the fabric apart and worked his way down Hemingway's body from his throat to the belt on his trousers. Oh, fuck, this was better even than he had imagined.

 

He gasped, shuddered and lost every inhibition he'd ever had, allowing his hands to wander along Blade's shoulders and around his neck as the soldier drove him right off the cliff of reality into a valley of pure sensation.

 

But then the reality came crashing back in as he felt Blade stiffen and his head came up. Hemingway opened bleary eyes to see the soldier, tense and alert, with all of his attention on the opening to the cave. Hemingway was still trying to get his mind back into the present and back into his body when Blade, with a mutter that might have been a curse and might have been an apology but was possibly a combination of the two, slid from their makeshift bed and paced quickly but silently over to the entrance with knives out and ready.

 

Hemingway struggled to a sitting position, buttoning his shirt up and feeling his erection soften in his trousers as Blade peered out and then relaxed. The expression on the soldier's face was a combination of relieved and disappointed as he turned back into the cave.

 

"I don't know how," Blade told Hemingway, "but they're already here."

 

Hemingway slumped. "Fuck," he muttered.

 

Blade grinned. "Maybe we can start over again later in a warm, comfortable bed?" he asked, sounding hopeful.

 

"I would like that a lot," Hemingway replied as forcefully as he could.

 

Less than a second later Blade was back across the cave and pulling Hemingway to his feet to kiss him breathless. With a shit-eating grin, the soldier then abandoned him to exit the cave and call out their location to the team that Hemingway could now hear yelling back and forth as they searched.

 

Five minutes later they had cleared out the cave, gathered every bit of evidence that they had been there, and he was through the rip in time and on the right end of history again.

 

"How did you do that?" he asked Captain Ryan as they returned to the ARC. He and Blade were in the back seats with Ryan driving and Professor Cutter in the front passenger seat. "I thought Blade said it opens every 18 hours."

 

Cutter turned to them in surprise. "It did. You're saying it wasn't 18 hours for you?"

 

Blade shook his head. "Two hours, max," he stated, and Cutter got a look on his face that didn't bode well for Blade and Hemingway getting to go home any time soon.

 

From the corner of his eye, Hemingway caught a glimpse of a fairly psychotic expression on Blade's face and he opened his mouth to respond, but Ryan, who had obviously been keeping an eye on his trooper, spoke first.

 

"They'll give their reports, Cutter. Then they'll go home and rest. You can ask anything you want but you'll wait until tomorrow. They might not have been gone as long on their end as it's been on ours, but it was still long enough that they need a break."

 

Grumpily, Cutter subsided, and Hemingway saw the amusement in Ryan's eyes as they reflected in the rear view mirror when Blade relaxed beside him. He fought back a grin and nudged Blade's arm. The soldier gave him a narrow-eyed look and Hemingway let his grin out to play. Blade's eyes widened for a moment, then he returned the grin with an added nod.


	3. Chapter 3

His eyes were burning, his head was beginning to ache, and Hemingway was regretting having agreed to this meeting, since Ryan's idea of a quick report had gone right out the window once Cutter got started.

 

The investigator had given Cutter every bit of information he'd managed to remember about the Park, the anomaly and the place it led to, and the men using it. He did skip a few details about the manner in which he and Blade had occupied their time whilst waiting for the anomaly to re-open, but Professor Cutter didn’t seem to care much about their personal activities. The man was simply flat-out determined to elicit every tiny detail possible about the anomaly: its timing, location, duration, speed of revolution, number of shards, exactly how many seconds it took in the past for an hour to pass in the future, and even whether the rotation speed had ever changed - as if the men trapped in the past would have noticed that.

 

"Enough, Professor." Hemingway finally put his foot down since none of the others looked as if they had enough energy left to put a stop to the inquisition.

 

Ryan was half asleep in his chair, Connor actually had fallen asleep, Stephen's eyelids were drooping, Lester had given up even pretending to pay attention as he played e-mail tag with someone, and Blade was wearing his 'Now, where did I leave my biggest knife?' expression. The only person who even looked alert was Lorraine, who was taking the minutes, and Hemingway suspected she might actually be an android from the future.

 

"What?" Cutter demanded, then started up again immediately. "But we don't have enough information yet to accurately place this anomaly in our records - "

 

"I said, enough." Standing abruptly, Hemingway let display some of the strength he'd developed over decades of fighting bureaucrats. "You have as much as we can give you tonight. Look around, Cutter. You've already lost everyone else. We just want to get some rest. You might have been faffing around in a lab all day, but we've been watching over our shoulders to try to avoid _things that might want to eat us_."

 

He nodded at Lester, who had abandoned his tablet and was sitting, lips twitching as he watched them.

 

"I'm going home. I'm going to soak in a hot bath, and then I'm going to get about 12 hours sleep. Once I'm done with that, then I might consider returning here to answer any more questions you come up with in that time. If, on the other hand, you continue to insist that we stay any longer right now, I will walk out and I will not come back at all. Is that clear?"

 

Face blank and eyes slightly wide, Cutter nodded. Lester closed his tablet cover and stood up.

 

"We do seem to be done here. Good night, gentlemen. We will reconvene tomorrow at Mr Hemingway's convenience." He looked around, eyebrow raised. "Someone ought to wake Mr Temple. He's going to have a very stiff neck if he sleeps there all night." With that statement, Lester turned and sauntered out.

 

Stephen nudged Connor, who woke up with a jerk and a grunt, staring around blearily. Ryan then waved them all off with his attention on Stephen, who had started signing quickly to the captain with a grin on his face.

 

"So, is there anything you're interested in doing in between the hot bath and the sleep?" Blade's soft voice in his ear made Hemingway shiver slightly.

 

"Damn straight," he replied, equally quietly, "but I think any investigation of the possibilities ought to be done at my place." He stopped suddenly, eyeing Blade in trepidation, wondering if he'd gone too far too fast.

 

Blade assuaged his worry. "That sounds perfect, Charles. Let's get the fuck out of here."

 

"An inspired idea," Hemingway replied, watching Cutter watching them as they started for the door. Unable to resist, he gave in to the little devil that was riding on his shoulder and poking him with its pitchfork.

 

"Oh, and by the way, Professor," Hemingway spoke quickly as they preceded Cutter from the room. "about the man running the operation? He told me that a woman gave him the information about the anomalies. From his description, I believe he was referring to your ex-wife."

 

He grabbed Blade's hand and led him out, almost giggling as he heard Cutter start to curse.

 

"Damn, you're good. That'll keep him busy for a while."

 

Blade's admiring tone came close to making Hemingway blush, so he just squeezed the hand in his and left it at that as they made their way to the garage.

 

xXx

 

"So, exactly how big is your shower?" Blade asked as Hemingway took out his key to unlock the front door of his small London flat.

 

"Not big enough for what I hope you're envisioning," Hemingway replied with regret.

 

He shivered a little as Blade's warm breath ghosted over his neck, the soldier's body pressed so close to his that he could feel the solid muscle shifting under the material, none of which was helping him manage to actually fit the key into the suddenly extremely tiny keyhole.

 

Blade chuckled at him, removed the key from his clumsy fingers and opened the door at what Hemingway considered an indecent rate of speed. Neither his mind nor his body were capable of moving that efficiently, and it was almost an insult that Blade seemed to be unaffected.

 

Then he changed his mind as Blade almost growled, "Bloody hurry up, then. I want a shower, and I want you in bed. As soon as."

 

Grabbing Blade's hand, Hemingway shoved his door open, made it through in record time, slammed it closed and locked it and had the soldier pressed up against it quickly enough to widen the emerald eyes.

 

"Is that fast enough?" he asked, slightly breathless at the lust he was seeing on Blade's face.

 

"Not nearly," Blade replied, pushing him back in the direction of the bathroom. How he knew which of the two doors on that side of the main room would lead to the facilities, Hemingway neither knew nor cared, as Blade's lips closed over his and between the two of them they proved that the level of synchronization they'd enjoyed in the Cretaceous hadn't been a fluke.

 

Once they reached the bathroom, Hemingway handed Blade a towel and pointed out the soap. "You first," he said breathlessly. "I'll get our . . . necessities . . . ready."

 

Blade took the towel with a sound that was close enough to a growl to make Hemingway's already lust-filled mind almost melt, and disappeared into the shower, having shed his clothing with impressive speed.

 

Hemingway quickly switched the sheets on the bed to a fresh set, and pulled out lube and a box of condoms. After a quick check of the expiration date on the condoms, he cast a rapid glance skyward in mixed relief and despondency. Based on the date printed on the box they were still good, but also based on the date, he hadn’t needed them in long enough to be rather depressing.

 

He snagged a fresh towel and waited by the bathroom door, alternating between anticipation and apprehension. The apprehension ceded completely to the anticipation as Blade exited the bathroom and yanked him close for a kiss.

 

"Hurry the fuck up," he whispered in Hemingway's ear, "or I'm liable to start without you."

 

Hemingway tipped his head toward the bedroom door. "I'll be quick," he replied. "Please don't get too far ahead of me."

 

With a grin, he slid out of Blade's grasp and into the bathroom, where he stopped and leaned against the door, taking a few deep breaths to try to regain some control after seeing Blade in nothing but a towel. Once the shakes subsided a bit, he took what was probably the fastest but most thorough shower of his entire life. He finished drying his hair as much as he could with the towel and brushed it back with his fingers, suddenly not worried very much about the thinning at the top of it. Then he wrapped the damp towel around his waist and returned to the bedroom, where he stuck right in front of the door with all the breath caught in his lungs.

 

Blade hadn't been joking. He had started without Hemingway. And the sight was enough to send every bit of blood plunging straight from Hemingway's head down into his cock quickly enough to make him dizzy. Back in the Cretaceous, simply seeing Blade's bare torso had made Hemingway's mouth go dry. This - this view of Blade's entire body, sprawled naked on the bed with his hard cock fisted in his fingers, was something that Hemingway intended to remember for the rest of his life.

 

"Damn it, Niall," he whispered, and the emerald eyes opened to stare into his as he continued, "do you have the faintest idea what you do to me?"

 

Blade released his cock and held out his hand. "Hopefully the same thing you do to me," he replied roughly, and Hemingway almost stumbled across the room to join him, losing the towel somewhere along the way but not caring at all.

 

He knelt on the edge of the bed next to Blade and looked his fill, breath shortening and cock hardening more every second. Once he was done, he met the man's eyes and smiled. Blade returned the look and the smile, then stretched up to kiss him, the sight of his abs tightening to raise his body succeeding in short-circuiting Hemingway's brain completely.

 

By the time Hemingway's mind rebooted and came back on-line, he was flat on his back with Blade's lips, tongue and teeth working their way down his chest, breath tickling the soft hair dusting his pecs and making him shiver at the sensation. Once Blade reached his belly he knew the current reality was going to be even better than his dreams or their aborted session in the cave. Fuck, the feeling of the harsh stubble scratching across his skin contrasting with the softness of the lips sent him into another level of reality. He couldn’t help moving, first gathering folds of the sheets into his tight fists, then releasing the material and reaching out to let his fingernails rake along Blade's shoulders, pulling groans from the man that resonated through into Hemingway's own body with each scrape.

 

Then Blade stopped. Hemingway gasped at the loss of sensation, and opened his eyes to glare accusingly at his tormentor. Blade met his gaze with an evil smile, and eyes fixed on his, lowered his lips to Hemingway's cock and sucked just the head into his mouth.

 

"Oh, fuck," Hemingway gasped, his head dropping back onto the pillow with a thump.

 

Blade hummed in appreciation, and Hemingway's hips twitched involuntarily, driving his cock deeper into the hot mouth. Blade retaliated by sucking the entire cock into his throat, which was completely and absolutely unfair of him. Hemingway told him so in no uncertain terms, and Blade upped the ante by swallowing around his mouthful. That did it.

 

"Niall, if you don't want this to be over before we even get started, you'd better back off," he managed to choke out.

 

Blade released him with a grin and a lick up the vein on the underside, and Hemingway convulsed.

 

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck," he growled, and pulled Blade up to kiss him hard, tasting his own pre-come and almost losing it again. "Damn it, I want you inside me. Now." He didn’t care that it had been way too long since he'd last been taken that way. His body knew what it wanted and it wanted Blade's cock. Hard and fast.

 

The soldier seemed to be amenable to that suggestion - or rather, that demand. His expression went feral, and he reached out to grab the lube from the table beside the bed. Eyes fixed on Hemingway's he wet his fingers thoroughly and slid them between Hemingway's legs.

 

Hemingway allowed his knees to fall open, humming in appreciation as the first thick, calloused digit breached him without any preliminaries. He'd wanted it hard and fast, and it looked as if Blade was ready to oblige. A second finger was added as soon as he relaxed a bit, and Blade twisted them unhurriedly.

 

"God, yes," Hemingway whispered, the words pulled from him without his conscious thought.

 

"Like that, do you?" Blade asked, surprisingly softly considering how comprehensively he was stretching Hemingway's hole.

 

Hemingway reached out and ran his fingers down Blade's cheek. "Yes, I do," he stated, his voice trailing off into a groan as Blade found his prostate and rubbed it gently.

 

"I'm ready, Niall," Hemingway said, almost whimpering as Blade's fingertip pressed harder on his prostate. "Believe me, I'm ready." By that time, he knew he was whining but he didn’t care in the least. He scrabbled across the bedside tabletop and found the box of condoms. He pulled one out, tore open the packet and sat up a little to reach down for Blade's cock, the fingers in his arse shifting a little and making him groan as he did.

 

Blade chuckled at his impatience, then his fingers twitched and he moaned as Hemingway unrolled the condom onto his hard cock. Hemingway bit back a curse as the callous on the fingertip raked across his prostate again.

 

Lying back, he ordered, "Fucking hell, get on with it."

 

Blade stared at him in shock for a moment, then his eyes, already dilated, widened as he took a deep breath and let it out. "Damn it, Charles, you're going to drive me crazy."

 

Hemingway resisted the desire to give the obvious answer that Blade was already crazy, and simply reached out to stroke Blade's chest and tweak one tight nipple. "Please, Niall. Now."

 

Blade smiled and removed his fingers, leaving Hemingway feeling rather bereft, but not for long. He felt Blade's solid body slide between his legs and the thick head of his cock, wider than just the two fingers, slowly but inexorably press inward. Hemingway's eyelids drooped and he hummed in contentment. That was more like it. That was exactly what he wanted.

 

He opened his eyes again, smiling at the intent expression on Blade's face as the soldier's cock finished filling Hemingway completely, balls pressed against his arse cheeks.

 

"Yes," they both whispered, completely in accord.

 

Hemingway added, "Perfect."

 

Blade made a muffled sound of agreement as he started to move, gradually withdrawing and pushing back in again, slowly at first and then picking up speed as Hemingway relaxed around him.

 

Hemingway felt him changing angles slightly with each thrust and knew Blade was on the hunt, but he didn’t care. The feeling of fullness, the friction, the stretch and slight burn, all of that when added to the very welcome weight pressing him into the mattress would be enough to bring him to completion in any case, he knew. Then none of that mattered as Blade found his target, and a whine was torn from Hemingway's lips as his prostate took a direct hit.

 

"Oh, crap. Oh, fuck," he whimpered, moving with and against Blade's thrusts, not sure whether he wanted more or whether it was already too much.

 

Blade seemed to be in total harmony with him, somehow knowing exactly what he was feeling. Backing off a little, he changed his angle just enough to rake across Hemingway's prostate instead of hitting it directly.

 

Then Blade settled in for what Hemingway knew would be a ride he wouldn’t forget any time soon. Blade's hips pistoned hard, ramming his cock in to its full length on each thrust, pulling back until the head was the only thing inside Hemingway's arsehole on each withdrawal.

 

Hemingway let himself go, crying out at each hit on his prostate, moaning when he could feel himself getting close to coming, then growling when Blade would change angles to lower the stimulation and drop him back from the edge. Around about the fourth or fifth time that happened, Hemingway knew he was starting to babble. Or beg. Or plead or curse or simply gibber incoherently, he wasn’t sure which.

 

He wasn’t sure about anything any more, only that he was done. His entire being was concentrated on the thick length ramming into his arse, the heavy muscular body weighing him down, and then, at the end, the surprisingly soft lips that captured his in a gentle kiss that almost severed his mind from his body.

 

One final hit directly on his prostate, harder than any before, and Hemingway convulsed, tearing his mouth away to yell Blade's name as he came harder than he ever had in his life, thick ropes of semen coating their chests where they were pressed together.

 

He was still shuddering, gradually sinking back to earth, when he felt Blade's cock thicken and twitch inside him, and the soldier groaned loudly and his hips pumped a few more times before he almost collapsed on top of Hemingway, gasping for breath.

 

After what seemed like an hour, Hemingway managed to round up his scattered wits enough to slide Blade off him and into a boneless heap onto the mattress next to him. But that was as far as he got. The idea of trying to make it into the bathroom for a flannel to clean them up felt like a completely impossible dream.

 

And Blade didn’t look any better. 'Wrecked' was a perfect description of how Hemingway felt, and if Blade felt anything like he looked, then 'wrecked' would work perfectly well to describe him, too.

 

The green eyes opened slowly and fuzzily to stare at him for a moment before focussing. Then Blade smiled, slightly goofily.

 

"Wow," he whispered.

 

Hemingway couldn’t help it. He dropped his head to Blade's shoulder and let himself go in laughter. "Wow, indeed," he agreed, once he got control again. "That was absolutely the most amazing experience of my entire life."

 

Blade's eyes lit up, and he grinned proudly. "Fucking right," he stated, reaching out to draw Hemingway close.

 

"On the other hand," Hemingway added musingly, "I think I'm going to have trouble sitting down for the next week or so."

 

Blade grimaced, looking a bit worried. "Should I apologise?"

 

He sounded tentative, and Hemingway berated himself internally. He'd been joking, and hadn’t intended to ruin the moment.

 

"Don't you dare," he ordered seriously. "Staying on my feet for a few days is a small price to pay for the most fantastic sex I've ever had."

 

Blade smiled back, then suddenly let out a prodigious yawn. "Good," he mumbled, eyes drifting shut as he relaxed. "Glad to hear it. Want to do that again. As soon as . . ." The next sound out of his mouth was a soft snore.

 

Having managed to recoup a little energy, Hemingway reached out and stroked Blade's cheek, feeling the slight return pressure as the sleeping soldier moved into the touch. Sighing, he kissed the slack lips, then stripped off Blade's condom, causing him to give a slight shudder, then tottered into the bathroom for a quick cleanup and a flannel. There was no way he was going to leave the mess for the morning.

 

He picked up his lost towel on the way back, and after a quick wipe of the warm flannel across Blade's chest and groin, letting go a grin as he caused another slight shudder, he wrapped the flannel in the towel and dropped them both off the side of the bed.

 

Yawning mightily, and feeling a few twinges in interesting places, he lay down beside his new lover and hummed happily as Blade automatically and unconsciously gathered him close. Dropping his head onto the strong shoulder, he gave himself up to long-overdue sleep.

 

xXx

 

He woke abruptly the next morning, feeling an unaccustomed warmth underneath him and the weight of a gaze on him. After a second, memory flooded back in and he smiled. Turning his head, he kissed the chest under his cheek, and felt the deep breath of a relieved sigh.

 

"Good morning," he murmured. "I'm glad you stayed, Niall."

 

The soldier's voice, still rough with sleep, came quietly back. "I am, too, Charles. Maybe . . ."

 

When nothing else was said, Hemingway lifted his head and looked seriously into Blade's uncertain eyes.

 

He nodded, smiling softly, and he was afraid rather sappily. "Maybe, yes. Maybe more than maybe. Yes?"

 

Blade looked confused for a moment before he laughed. "No maybe at all, then. Definitely."

 

Hemingway felt his sappy smile widening into a full-on grin. "Glad to hear it. Now, we've only had about," he craned to look at the clock beside the bed, "damn it, seven hours sleep, and I promised myself twelve. At least. So, please, may I have my very warm and comfortable pillow back again?"

 

Blade gave him a peck on the cheek. "After your pillow has a quick slash," he promised. "Be right back."

 

Hemingway hummed and curled up on his side, almost asleep again by the time Blade returned. But instead of going supine, Blade slid under the duvet and spooned up behind him, a warmth all the way down his back. One solid arm snaked under his head as a pillow, and the other one wrapped around his waist and pulled him back against a firm chest.

 

"Mmmm, nice," Hemingway mumbled as he dropped off again, this time secure in the knowledge that he wouldn’t be waking up alone.

 

 


End file.
